To Ashes, to Ashes
by I Was NotA Robot
Summary: In which Kate Bishop is a mutant, and no one knows the catalyst for the unfolding events of a world at war. But before reality can fold itself into tiny paper hearts, something erupts. Being a Hawkeye is hard - especially in the face of an apocalypse.


**Summary: In which Kate Bishop is a mutant, and no one knows the catalyst for the unfolding events of a world at war. But before reality can fold itself into tiny paper hearts, something erupts.**

* * *

Kate Bishop is a mutant with superhuman brain focus and accuracy.

She's heard about some people with a similar ability, only their gift is related to autism. She doesn't think she has autism. She thinks, she speaks, she _feels_ normal (then again, she's never been the best judge of what's ordinary and what's not).

She's argued with Clint a dozen times that just because she has superpowers, it doesn't mean she's cheating when she calls herself the best archer in the world.

 _(They both know it's not true, but Clint is offended anyway)._

* * *

 _._

 _._

 _._

Wars are unveiled. She already knew that mankind was bickering with itself, as did many others with her intuition, but now fights and conflicts arose to the surface.

And boy, was it ugly.

Her team is flailing madly, and in the chaos, those fortunate enough to care wouldn't notice.

Patriot is the first to go down. His demise reeks of self-sacrifice, and Kate couldn't be prouder. Eliot fights like an Avenger, gleaming and shining in all sorts of different hues.

But the scales tip, and marbles come crashing to the floor. He's struck with bullet after bullet, until a shining piece of metal slams into his forehead and he keels over. God bless America, she whispers at the sky.

 _(He won't respond)._

 _._

 _._

 _._

Tommy flashes her a quick smile and a peck on the cheek _(I'm sorry, I love you?)_ before he zips into the fray, green and white trailing behind him like a banner.

A dot within a sea of red, she can spot his white hair. He is struck down, and the speedster's movement slows, and stops.

What upsets her most is that she doesn't have time to mourn.

* * *

She receives an offer from Charles Xavier himself, and she accepts. Her team isn't what it used to be, and empty chairs are too much to handle. Plus, his Mansion isn't falling apart as they speak. She leaves a post it note for Clint on the counter _(she hopes that it won't collect dust, hopes that he's still alive to read it, wherever he is)._

Kitty Pryde is nice, and the two spend their hours slipping through walls and gulping down bottles of ginger ale.

It's when the call of a battle sounds that Kitty Pryde prepares to rip out hearts and Kate Bishop goes back to calculating the most efficient way to shoot an arrow into someone's head.

.

.

.

Wolverine goes down growling, and as she kicks at the piles of ash in the aftermath, she can't help but shudder at the shiver in her spine. If Logan Howlett is dead, then she knows that _she_ should've been dead a while ago.

She's gotta get out of here.

* * *

She finds the doorway to their apartment busted open, splintered wood still clinging desperately to the doorframe, creating jagged points to be avoided. After stepping carefully through a junkyard of shattered glass and overturned furniture, she notes the strips of wallpaper that have been slashed off of the wall, hanging like forlorn cobwebs.

She finds Lucky behind her bed, crimson pooling around the corner of the room, blood seeping into the knots of the wooden floor and into the cracks between the floorboards.

This is the first time she's able to cry.

.

.

.

The rooftop is vaguely familiar, but it's littered with broken bricks and bones.

She looks out at her broken city, once full of lights and sound. She can hear nothing, in this new world of stillness. Now it's eerily quiet, and she wants to sob again. Her city is gray and dead.

.

.

.

She catches a flash of purple and black, and then blonde hair. She runs full speed into his arms, and smiles into the singled fabric of his shirt.

The two Hawkeyes find an abandoned warehouse, and set up camp.

.

.

.

They're attacked the next night by muggers looking for food and women, and Clint watches as she kills the man without flinching.

She doesn't say a word as he gathers him in her arms, and she buries her face in his shoulder. She wonders if he can see that she's just as dead inside as the city.

.

.

.

They have a radio that dances through stations.

 _This city never sleeps at night_

 _It's time to begin, isn't it?_  
 _I get a little bit bigger but then I'll admit_  
 _I'm just the same as I was_  
 _Now don't you understand_  
 _That I'm never changing who I am_

She doesn't mind when she finds it smashed, pieces swept up into the garbage bin.

.

.

.

Clint Barton tells her he loves her over coffee and burnt toast made from stale bread. He said it casually – so casually, that Kate knew he must've carefully planned it to be so. She doesn't react immediately, sipping her coffee and wrinkling her nose at the evident lack of sugar. He frowns and repeats.

The piles of ammunition scattered across the desktop rattle and begin to roll of onto the floor the moment she leaps up and launches herself at him.

 _(It's become distant, all of it. The age gap. Their past status as mentor and protégé. The fact that she's not even sure if she loves him like that, not really. But it doesn't matter, because they could both take all the love they could get, and then some)_

 _._

 _._

 _._

Natasha Romanoff is beautiful. Now she is in the doorway and positively glowing, and Clint is smiling. Kate feels her heart sink for a moment, until Steve Rogers slings an arm around the Widow's waist and announces the news.

.

.

.

A year later, they find Steve Roger's shield, cracked in half and splattered in dried blood.

Kate can hear Natasha's anguished screams from the courtyard.

* * *

Maybe things have settled down. New York twitches, rustles, and then _moves_ again, almost like it used to. It's alive, barely. Like a green shoot poking through white snow, recovery is tentative, but long overdue.

The Hawkeyes have an apartment again, a real one. The Widow is a common presence, and over the years, Kate has learned to hold James Rogers like he's her own.

.

.

.

She spreads her arms wide, welcoming oblivion.

Eyes closed, lips red, a paper heart plastered to her chest, she takes a step into the star-studded abyss below her, and simply falls.

* * *

 _This road never looked so lonely  
This house doesn't burn down slowly  
To ashes, to ashes_


End file.
